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melwilLook who came to visit me when I waited for a phone call . . .
Title: Lines, Seen in Dim Light
Author: MelWil
Fandom: WW
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me. La la la . . .
Feedback: Is delightful and can be sent to lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: Every one has lines but his are more prominent than most.
~*~
There’s lines on his hand and he hates it when she looks at them. He sticks his hands in his pocket and rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and just by looking at him she can tell that he is offended.
“You’re pissed with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are. You’re pissed with me. I can tell these thing.”
“Really, I’m not pissed with you.”
“Josh.”
“Donna” he moves his hands to his hips and she is relieved because he’s forgotten about the lines on his hands. He’s pissed at her because she said he was pissed when she wasn’t - and he’s forgotten how, once, he flew his hand through a glass window. . .
He lies too close to her and she complains about the way he hogs the pillow. He kisses her on the shoulder and moves back to his side of the bed.
“I wasn’t pissed with you.”
“What?”
But he’s kissing her again, her hand and her stomach and her lips, and she forgets what they were arguing about.
There’s a line on his chest and she’s careful not to touch it. He pretends that he doesn’t see it, that it never happened, that it was someone else’s catastrophe.
She watches it when he’s sleeping and wonders if it would hurt if she touched it.
She doesn’t want him to hurt anymore.
Title: Lines, Seen in Dim Light
Author: MelWil
Fandom: WW
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me. La la la . . .
Feedback: Is delightful and can be sent to lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: Every one has lines but his are more prominent than most.
~*~
There’s lines on his hand and he hates it when she looks at them. He sticks his hands in his pocket and rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and just by looking at him she can tell that he is offended.
“You’re pissed with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are. You’re pissed with me. I can tell these thing.”
“Really, I’m not pissed with you.”
“Josh.”
“Donna” he moves his hands to his hips and she is relieved because he’s forgotten about the lines on his hands. He’s pissed at her because she said he was pissed when she wasn’t - and he’s forgotten how, once, he flew his hand through a glass window. . .
He lies too close to her and she complains about the way he hogs the pillow. He kisses her on the shoulder and moves back to his side of the bed.
“I wasn’t pissed with you.”
“What?”
But he’s kissing her again, her hand and her stomach and her lips, and she forgets what they were arguing about.
There’s a line on his chest and she’s careful not to touch it. He pretends that he doesn’t see it, that it never happened, that it was someone else’s catastrophe.
She watches it when he’s sleeping and wonders if it would hurt if she touched it.
She doesn’t want him to hurt anymore.
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on 2003-02-05 05:37 pm (UTC)Oh 'Lina! And you think you can't do J/D? You lie! Thank you, more please. Wonderful, wonderful wonderful!
PS: Come home soon from Beerwah because you haven't even gone yet but we still miss you.